Due South
by Audrey T
Summary: When you've thrown your lot in with Hell, you may as well make nice with the devil.
1. Chapter 1

In Los Angeles it's not completely ridiculous for a successful and flashy entrepreneur to give himself an over the top alter ego. So when I met the handsome and charming club owner who called himself Lucifer Morningstar, I can't say I was all that taken aback by the persona.

Despite his slightly smarmy attitude (honestly to be expected in his line of work), he seemed a decent guy (by LA standards) and I was only looking to fill a couple of lonely nights, so ' _Why not?_ ' I told myself. But after a series of odd visions in my periphery and seemingly being stalked by said man, I was beginning to think I may have bit off a little more than I was willing to chew.


	2. Chapter 2

As far as religious ruminations went, I figured this was something I couldn't just bring to my local clergyman.

I was sure there was a difference between dealing with metaphorical devils and spending QT with the actual Morning Star himself. I imagined Father Diamante wouldn't be very helpful with my current predicament, so like the good little blasphemer I was becoming, I took my quandary directly to Satan himself.

The nightclub Lucifer owned didn't have a name, as far as I knew. There was no sign on the front door – or any of the other entrances or exits – and when it was mentioned on the news (or, more often, in the tabloids) it was referenced as _Lucifer Morningstar's night club off Cahuenga_. I guess the owner's notoriety was more than enough.

At five in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the club was quiet, mostly empty, but still spectacular, in it's own right, and the man of the hour was seated at a small table just off to the left of the main floor's bar. Nursing a sweating glass of dark liquor and a subdued smile, he moved to stand, always the gentleman.

"Please," I held my hands in front of me, "Don't bother."

In feigned defeat, he settled back into his chair and stared blankly.

I'd hoped for a straight-forward conversation, with straight-forward answers, and so, I went for a straight-forward opening. "What exactly have I gotten myself into?"

Being met by Lucifer's raised eyebrows wasn't encouraging.

"What ever are you referring to?"

"This," I motioned my hand between the two of us, "I need to know if this is something I can undo or if it's already too late."

His dark eyes flickered to the right before fixing on me again. " _This_ being...? And 'too late' for what exactly?"

I took the open seat across from him, the tiny table separating us. He sat up straighter, turning his body fully towards me. I could feel the heat emanating from his long legs against my bare knees. Reflexively, I pushed my chair back.

"Have I already damned myself," I asked, "by just... _being_ in your very presence?"

Lucifer sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepling just below his chin, lips pursing. "I would hardly describe our intimacy as you 'merely being in my presence'."

I huffed out a breath, eyebrows knitting in frustration. "I didn't know you were the devil. Does that count for anything?"

"Can't imagine it does," he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "Though I do recall an introduction. I specifically said, 'Lucifer, Morning Star,' and you said, 'Yeah, okay.' You do remember that bit, don't you?"

I gritted my teeth. Of course I remembered, but... "I didn't think you were the actual Lucifer. Why would I think you were _actually_ Lucifer? What the hell?"

"Nice choice of words," Lucifer smiled, "but that isn't really my fault, is it?"

I didn't know. I didn't know anything, but if this was to be my life now, I needed to figure out the rules, didn't I? "Fine. It's my fault. _Whatever_. What happens now?"

Another impossibly irritating shrug from Satan. "Nothing? I really have no idea what you're on about?"

"Am I going to get smited? Smote? Whatever. Am I on God's shitlist now? _I had sex with the devil!_ " I hissed. "What's gonna happen to me? And what do _you_ want from me?"

"Your company would be a nice start."

"What?"

"If you insist on coming into my place of business and making demands and silly accusations, it would be nice if you ordered something. A drink perhaps?"

I stared at him, eyes wide with confusion, fingers jittery from a few nights of restless sleep. A drink might do some good, but I didn't want to allow him to distract me with irrelevant asides.

"If you're going to hell, love, you might as well do it thoroughly, yes? And I don't welcome sobriety in my club. Take a moment, have your drink, and then you can resume with your inane questioning and moral quagmire."

I blinked, sighed, and felt my lips twitch into a resigned, semblance of a smile.

"I suppose you're right."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** More likely than not, I'm going to change the location from Los Angeles to New York, because I like New York better. But maybe not because New York has actual weather which might be bothersome to deal with. But also, maybe weather might be nice in a story. But Los Angeles does have so much inherent sin, it might just be easier to do this there. I don't know yet. Just a thought.

Also, do you think the 'devil' in the phrase _the devil_ should be capitalized and treated as a proper noun?

Also, what do you think of first person narrative? I'm not entirely comfortable with it and I'm sure I don't like it, but what do you think? First or some variation of third person?


	3. Chapter 3

I met Lucifer much in the way most people did nowadays, at a diner after a night of shame and regret.

It was late Saturday morning and I'd dragged the still living pieces of myself out of bed and over to the greasy spoon a couple of blocks away. Attempting to chase away the remnants of an awful Friday night and a wicked hangover, I stole a seat in the darkest booth and buried my face in the breakfast menu, waiting for a waitress to notice me.

I'd just decided on golden pancakes and two orders of their juicy beef sausages, when _Hello, my name is: Gina_ stepped up and asked, "Can I start y'all off with something to drink?"

Well, of course she could. Bottomless coffee for the boozy floozy over here, but _y'all_? Who the hell was _y'all_?

Begrudgingly, I peeped over the top of my laminated menu and into the eyes of my rather handsome, but still completely uninvited, interloper.

"Coffee, please," I said to Gina, and to the man in the suit, "Who the hell are you?"

"Make that two, dear," he corrected, and dismissed our waitress with a smile.

Pulling the hood of my sweater off my head and slipping my cheap shades to rest in my hair, I stared blurry eyed, hoping my bedraggled, morning-after look would be unappealing enough to scare him off. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he took me in. I tried to smile, dry lips cracking under just-about-worn-off matte lipstick. "Second thoughts?"

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be deterred. Instead, he introduced himself. "Lucifer Morningstar."

Catching Gina's approach, two cups and saucers in hand, I simply inhaled an exasperated breath. "Yeah, okay."

As it turns out, Lucifer Morningstar had owned the club I'd spent my ill-fated Friday night drinking in, and ill-fated Saturday morning throwing up in front of. He was also the guy offering to pay for my late brunch, and so, I didn't put up much resistance when he insisted on staying.

We'd placed our orders with Gina and then sat in silence – me, pretending to look at the menu; he, pretending he wasn't curiously staring – until our food was delivered. I had hoped, perhaps, the rest of the meal would continue on in the same way.

No such luck.

"Last night, you were with Angelina Motley, weren't you?" Tucking a napkin neatly into the front of his button-down, he looked to me with eyebrows raised.

I was, and so, I said as much. "You know Angie?"

I watched as Lucifer bit into his cheeseburger. Rare, he'd ordered it. Risky in a dingy place like this. When he placed it back on its plate, wiping at the wet corners of his mouth with another napkin, I could see the oozing red meat exposed where he'd taken a bite. I wondered if he'd get to witness a repeat of last night.

"Biblically."

" _Congratulations_." I tried my damnest to hold back an eyeroll. "So why is it you're having breakfast with me and not her?"

"Well, _you're_ having breakfast," he pointed out, "I'm working on lunch."

I only nodded, rounding up pieces of pancake with pieces of sausage onto a fork and shoving it into my mouth.

"And," he continued, "I have no idea where your friend is now. She was gone quite some time before morning – "

"Neat-o."

" – and I'd like for you to return something to her – "

"Sure."

" – I'd also like to extend an invitation to you both – "

"Right."

" – VIP passes to the club tonight. You'll be my special guests, of course. Great DJ. Free drinks. Bottle service, if you'd like – "

"I'll be sure to pass on the message."

" _Hm._ " I could feel his gaze on me as I chewed another mouthful and rooted around in my pocket. "You're calling her now?"

"Texting." I wiggled the phone a little, sliding my thumb across the screen to unlock it. "I'll let her know you're looking."

At the ensuing silence, I looked up from my cell to be met with an empty seat. As I looked around the diner, I caught Lucifer's back as he exited out the front door. In his wake, tucked under the corner of his unfinished burger were a pair of neon yellow wristbands and Angie's nameplate necklace. Under his drained coffee cup, a crisp fifty dollar bill.

I tucked the items into my pocket and sent out a quick message to Angie:

 _y is_ _ **ur**_ _ONS following_ _ **me**_ _home?_


End file.
